This Road That We Call Life
by sudipal
Summary: For all those ShawnAngela shippers who wondered whatever happened to them after the finale... Just a warning: I'll be writing this story very slowly.
1. I Can't Love You

Disclaimer: I don't own Boy Meets World or any of its characters... I think Disney does, right?

* * *

**Prologue:** **I Can't Love You**

"We said it would never happen to us," Shawn said into the phone. "That the distance wouldn't hurt our relationship."

"I know, Shawn," Angela's voice said from the other end. "But we were wrong."

"I don't want it to be over, Angela. I love you." He sat on the living room floor behind the couch in the tiny, two bedroom apartment that he shared with Eric.

"You'll always have a special place in my heart, Shawn. But please... just let me go... let _us_ go."

"No!" he yelled into the speaker. He then continued in a quieter, yet still emphatic tone, "I know you're scared because you know that once you come back from Europe, we'll be together for the rest of our lives. We've never had a proper handle on this relationship thing, but I know we can figure it out together. Angela, I want you to marry me!"

"Shawn..." she pleaded.

"Please!"

"I can't," Angela said. "I'm so sorry, but I just can't."

"You can! We both can."

"Look, Shawn," she said. "I have to go now. Goodbye."

"No," he said. "I will never let you go."

"Please, Shawn. Please, just say it."

There was a long pause. "Goodbye, Angela," Shawn finally said, feeling both physically and emotionally defeated.

"Goodbye, Shawn," Angela said. He could tell she was crying as she said it, followed by the line going dead. He wondered if she could tell that he was crying, too. He wondered if she cared.


	2. Shallow

**Chapter 1: Shallow**

Shawn took a sip from his grande-sized coffee, already turning a bit cold from his rushing to finish the photos for an article from this month's issue of _Vision_ before the deadline. He was usually very good at his job, but the problem was that the featured model had come in to the shoot a bit late and more than a bit tipsy. Shawn had been tempted to use some other girl instead, but at that point he had to just make it work. And Shawn was very good at making it work. That's how he had come from being a lowly intern in his final year at school to becoming a Junior Photographer in just a few years. It was Shawn's job to help his boss, Rick, take all the photos for the prestigious style magazine. From lighting, to editing, to taking many of the actual photos, Shawn did his best at completing his tasks.

He sat by his computer, photoshoping his photos. Though there was something to be said about the ease of computer editing, Shawn did prefer the old-school method of photography. Give him a dark room over a private office any day of the week. But, being surrounded by beautiful women all day, Shawn wasn't about to complain.

At the end of the day, Shawn handed his work over to the necessary people to get it where it needed to be. He threw out his coffee cup, which still had a drop left in it, shrugged on his leather jacket, and headed home.

Since coming to New York a little over five years ago, Shawn and Eric shared a Brooklyn apartment together a few blocks down from Cory and Topanga's apartment. Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't practically live over by the young Matthews couple. Not even New York could come between the likes of Cory and Shawn. Heck, even Topanga was looking upwards toward Shawn from the pedestal where Cory had placed her... and that was pretty high. However, tonight was a not a night to spend with Cory and Topanga. Tonight was Friday, and that meant one thing: date night.

After he and Angela broke up about four and a half years ago, Shawn had slowly reverted back to his old playboy ways, never managing to keep a steady girlfriend. He told himself that he was just looking to have fun right now, that he didn't even want anything serious, but deep down he knew he was missing something. So even as he told himself it was only meant to be a one time thing, a part of him still examined every woman he went out with; and, of course, they were all found wanting. Once, when he was feeling a bit overly romantic one night, he compared himself to the prince meeting the long procession of women before Cinderella arrived at the ball.

"Hey, Eric!" he called out as he stood in the empty living room.

"Yeah, buddy?" Eric asked, as he entered the room in a bathrobe, toweling off his wet hair.

"You know the date isn't til later, right?" said Shawn. He and Eric were going to double date this particular night with a couple of models from Shawn's work.

"Yeah," said Eric. "But tonight's special. I need to prepare."

"Prepare?" asked Shawn, raising an eyebrow.

"Listen close, Shawn," he said. "Because I'm about to let you in on The Eric Matthews Fool-Proof Date Preparation Method."

"Well, I suppose it would have to be fool-proof with you involved."

"Exactly," said Eric.

"So," said Shawn, plopping himself down on the sofa and getting comfortable. "Tell me about this 'method.'"

"First step: bathe. No chick will snuggle up to a dude who stinks."

"Makes sense..."

"Step numero dos," he continued, raising two fingers for emphasis. "Eat a light meal before the date. That way you don't look like a pig, you save a few bucks, and it totally helps if the restaurant you go to serves small portions."

"Huh..." said Shawn, considering the practicality of Eric's words. "Is there a third step?"

"That's the most important one of all," said Eric. "Say the girl's name over and over before you see her. That way you don't accidentally call her the wrong thing; they don't like it when you do that."

"True..." said Shawn. Well, what did he really expect when it came from Eric? He shook his head lightly as he watched Eric rummage through the fridge, grab some leftovers, and head back to his bedroom. Shawn just sighed, found the remote, and watched some TV.

* * *

Shawn and Eric sat in the booth, waiting for their dates to meet them at the restaurant. Shawn watched as Eric checked himself out on the back side of his soup spoon and combing a hand through his hair.

"You're fine," Shawn told him.

"_Damn_ fine," said Eric, placing the spoon back on the table.

Shawn looked up and noticed two young women entering the front doors. "They're here," he informed Eric. Eric turned around and both watched as their dates glided over to their table.

"Hey, Krysti," Shawn said, as both he and Eric stood up chivalrously to greet them.

"Hello, Shawny," Krysti said, smiling with her full, pure-red lips and batting her doe-like hazel eyes. She wore a light blue, sleeveless dress. Her legs went on for days, where they finally met up with three-inch stilettos and a pedicure that matched the color of her lipstick. There was no mistake in assuming she was a model. In fact, she was the same model Shawn had a difficult time with that very morning.

Her friend was equally glamorous. Her brunette hair was done up, showcasing her high cheekbones. She wore a green dress to match her eyes. She looked like the classic girl-next-door, if that girl happened to be a Grecian goddess.

"Hi, I'm Joy," she said.

"Yes, yes you are," Eric chortled with glee.

"I hope you two weren't waiting too long," said Krysti.

"No, not at all," said Shawn.

Just then, the waiter came by with a wine list. Eric took it and glanced over it. "We'll have that one," he said, pointing to the Merlot.

"Very good, sir," said the waiter, who made a slight bow and swiftly disappeared.

The waiter came back a few minutes later with the wine. He poured some into three of the glasses, but Shawn covered the top of his glass with his hand.

"None for me, thanks," Shawn told the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked away to get the menus.

"If you're worried about a designated driver," said Joy. "I'm sure we can just call a cab."

"Actually," said Shawn. "I just don't drink."

"Really?" asked Krysti. "You don't drink _at all_?"

"No," said Shawn. "Alcoholism kind of runs in my family..."

"A friend of mine's uncle was an alcoholic," said Joy. "They had an intervention and everything."

"I don't know what I would do if I couldn't drink," said Krysti. "I love the stuff."

"I've noticed," said Shawn.

"Come on, Shawny," she said. "You're not still sore about this morning, are you?"

"What happened this morning?" asked Eric.

"I came into the shoot just teensy bit hung over," she said, giggling.

"Kind of seems unprofessional," said Joy.

"It's fine," said Shawn, not wanting to start anything. "It all got done, so it's all right."

"See," Krysti said to Joy. "It's all right."

By the time they reached the main course, Eric was regaling everyone about his short stint as a TV weatherman.

When they finished their meal and paid the check, all four stepped outside into the humid summer night air. "Oh god," said Krysti. "I feel like I just ate a gazillion pounds. I need to work it off... I know! There's this awesome night club just a few minutes away from here. Who's in?"

The three others exchanged glances. "Sure," said Shawn, shrugging. "Why not?" Eric and Joy also agreed since the night was still young.

The club was very popular that night, but Krysti and Joy worked their magic to get the four of them in without having to wait.

They danced and enjoyed themselves, and when they got tired, they snagged an empty table. Krysti ordered more drinks from the bar while the others chatted.

The music stopped and the DJ spoke to he crowd. "It's Naughty '90s Night, so tonight we'll be playing all hits from, you guessed it, the '90s. Here's a song you might remember..."

As the music began to play, Eric had a sense of deja vu. _I would've given you my heart. I would've given up who I am..._

"Hey," said Shawn. "Isn't this the song that weird chick with the guitar wrote about you?"

"Really?" asked Joy.

"Yeah," he said. "It was written by a girl I went out on a date with once." _Look at that shallow boy_... "It didn't work out."

"That makes you practically famous," said Joy, edging a bit closer to Eric.

"You know," said Eric, whose voice suddenly got huskier. "I'm famous for other things as well..."

Krysti soon rejoined them, sitting next to Shawn. "Don't you just love clubs? I could live in them."

"I'd probably get sick of the music after a while," said Shawn.

"Not me," said Krysti.

"What kind of music do you prefer?" Joy asked Shawn.

"Well," said Shawn. "Mostly Classical. You know, Vivaldi, Chopin, Bach..."

"Ugh," said Krysti. "Not for me, thanks..."

"That stuff usually reminds me of Bugs Bunny," said Joy. "Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit-"

"Da-da-da-dun," Eric chimed in, causing both of them to chuckle.

"Whatever..." said Krysti. Slightly bored by the conversation, she dragged Shawn back to the dance floor.

They finally called a cab at three a.m. They dropped Joy off first. "It was really nice meeting you, Eric," she told him.

"And it was nice meeting you too, Joy," he said.

"I had a really great time," she said.

"Maybe we can do it again sometime?" he asked, hopeful.

"I'd like that," she smiled, and gave him a peck on the cheek before waving a final goodbye to the others.

Next was Krysti's place. Shawn walked her to her building's front door. "Do you wanna come up stairs... _and not drink_?" she asked seductively and running her hand lightly across his arm.

Shawn considered for a moment. Overall, he had a fun time tonight, but it had little to do with the woman standing before him. She wasn't interested in any of his interests, she was rarely without a drink in her hand, and she was basically a ditz.

He immediately turned back to the cab. "Don't wait up for me, man," he told Eric, and then returned to Krysti, who led him upstairs. The cab drove off with only Eric left in the backseat; he might have wondered at his friend's choice in companionship, but, at that moment, he was too busy thinking about Joy. Besides, Shawn was old enough to make his own decisions. And if Shawn wanted to be shallow, then that was okay just so long as no one got hurt. What Shawn never considered, though, was that he could be hurting himself.


	3. Thinking Cramp

A/N: Sorry it's taking me so long to update. The only reason I have this chapter done is because I'm procrastinating a bit with my finals. Anyway, thanks for waiting. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 2: Thinking Cramp**

"I'm back," Topanga announced as she stepped through the front door to the apartment that she shared with Cory. She had a huge smile on her face.

"Hey, Topanga," Cory said from the sofa, eyes glued to the cartoon playing on the television. "If you're going out, can you pick up a few things?"

"I was _just_ out," she said. Her smile quickly vanished and replaced itself with a frown to show her annoyance in her husband's lack of attention toward her.

"Really?" he asked, still watching the TV.

"I told you I had a doctor's appointment," she told him. She paused for a moment to regain control of her emotions. "And, actually," she said, sitting down next to him. "There's something I want to tell you."

"During commercial," said Cory. Topanga grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" said Cory. "I was watching that."

"Cory," said Topanga, grabbing his face with both her hands so that he'd be forced to look at her.

"Yes?" he said, his mouth slightly smushed by her grasp.

"I have some really good news to share with you. Just now-"

The buzzer to the building's entrance rang. "Hey, it's me," said Shawn's voice through the intercom.

"It's Shawn," exclaimed Cory, pushing Topanga aside so that he could greet his best friend. Topanga sighed, shaking her head in annoyance; her news would have to wait. She learned long ago to accept Cory and Shawn's unique relationship, and knew that it did not affect Cory's love for her.

When Shawn entered, he immediately said the Cory, "I've gotta talk to you, man." He then took a quick glance around the apartment and noticed Topanga on the couch. "Hey, Topanga. Do you mind leaving me and Cor alone for a sec?"

"Of course," she sighed. "I'll just sit in the bedroom, I guess."

"Great," Shawn said, missing both Topanga's tone and the glare she gave toward them as she left the room.

"What's up, Shawn?" Cory asked, concerned for his friend.

"You know that girl I told you I was seeing?" he began. "Krysti."

"You mean the one with the..." he said, using gestures to complete his thought.

"Yeah," said Shawn.

"Well, what about her?" asked Cory.

"I think we might unintentionally have become a couple," said Shawn.

"What do you mean?"

"We only went out a few times," said Shawn. "But she's become really clingy. And then there was the photo..."

"What photo?" asked Cory.

"You know, I like to keep some photos of all of us on my desk. But today I walked into my office... and one of my photos had Krysti pasted in right beside me."

Shawn threw himself onto the couch. "I hate to tell you this, Shawny," Cory said, sitting down beside his friend. "But I think your girlfriend might be a bit nutso."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Shawn protested.

"Well someone better tell her that," said Cory.

"What do I do, man?" Shawn asked.

"Tell her your breaking up with her."

"I tried that," said Shawn.

"And...?"

"She just laughed at me, told me to pick her up tonight at ten, and walked away."

"It's almost ten o'clock now," said Cory.

"I know," said Shawn.

"Are you gonna go?" Cory asked.

"The scary thing is that I think I might," said Shawn.

"Are you sure?" said Cory, crossing his arms. "You don't seem to like her that much."

"I don't," said Shawn. "I mean, I do... I don't know." Shawn sighed in frustration. "But I miss being in a relationship. I miss knowing that someone cares about me just as much as I do them. I miss knowing that someone accepts me wholeheartedly as I am. I miss knowing what I want out of life. I mean, if she really wants this so badly, then maybe I should give it a try."

"Settling isn't the most solid foundation for a relationship," said Cory.

Shawn stood up suddenly. "Not everyone can have what you and Topanga have, Cor!"

"You used to believe differently," said Cory.

"Yeah, well..." said Shawn. "Things change."

"Why'd you come here tonight, Shawn?" Cory asked suddenly worried.

Shawn stared at his friend for a moment in silence before saying, "I really don't know."

"Shawny..." Cory said, reaching out to him.

But Shawn pulled away. "I gotta go," he said, turning toward the door. "I have a date." Then he was gone.

Cory just stared at the door. A moment later, Topanga was beside him, wrapping her hand in his. "He'll be okay," she said, trying to comfort him. "Shawn just needs time to sort some things out."

"All he's ever wanted is what we have," he said, sadly.

"I know," said Topanga. "But not everyone's as lucky as we are."

"He really deserves it, though," said Cory. He thought a moment before saying, "Hey, wasn't there something you wanted to tell me before?"

Topanga looked into Cory's eyes and saw how worried he was for his friend. "Yeah," she said, giving him a sad smile. "But it can wait."


	4. Coryed This Up

A/N: I warned you this would take a while. Thanks for your patience.

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**Chapter 3: Cory-ed This Up**

A few weeks later, Shawn was still seeing Krysti. He eventually brought her around to meet Cory and Topanga. Though the couple didn't think much of her, Cory and Topanga both agreed to keep silent for Shawn's sake. Shawn was hurting, but it wasn't Krysti who was hurting him.

One would never think that Shawn was distressed inside if one looked at him; even Shawn was able to delude himself into happiness. After all, he'd always been a sucker for a pretty girl. He continued to date Krysti, continued to smile, continued to joke, continued to pretend everything was okay.

Monday morning, Shawn entered the meeting room to review next months magazine issue and other important concerns. He took a seat around the table next to his boss, Rick.

"Good morning, Shawn," he said.

"Morning, Rick," Shawn replied.

"So," he said. "How's it going with that model? I hear you two are getting pretty serious."

"Maybe," Shawn said enigmatically.

Rick, always one for a juicy story, knew Shawn was keeping something, but out of respect for his friend and co-worker, he decided to switch the subject. "I heard we just hired a new columnist," he said. "Just moved back to America after living in Europe for the past few years."

"Yeah?" said Shawn.

"I also heard she's gorgeous," said Rick.

"So I guess that takes you out of the running," Shawn said, smiling.

"Low blow, Shawn," said Rick, unfazed.

"Do you guys in photography think about anything other than women?" asked Kathleen, the head-columnist from the make-up department, who was sitting nearby.

"Hey," Rick shrugged. "It's my job."

"Good morning everybody," came the voice of Rita Hudson, the owner and founder of _Vision_. "I'd like you all to meet our new writer for the current events column."

Everyone in the room turned to face the direction of their boss before immediately looking toward the young black woman, who was standing in the doorway with a mixture of both feigned confidence and real uncertainty.

"This is Angela Moore," said Ms. Hudson.

"Angela!"came a surprised gasp from the meeting table.

Angela turned with a confused expression on her face toward the direction of the voice. "Shawn?"

All eyes were now on Shawn, and he could feel every last one of them.

"You work here?" Angela asked, the only thing her brain would allow her to say.

"Yes," said Shawn, whose mental faculties were almost completely shut down by an overload of thoughts and emotions.

"I take it you two know each other?" said Ms. Hudson.

"Yes, Ma'am," said Angela.

"And I trust there won't be any problems, and that the office will remain a professional environment?" she said.

"Yes," said Angela.

"Yes," said Shawn, though he couldn't stop staring at Angela.

"Then, why don't you take a seat?" Ms. Hudson indicated toward her new employee. They then got down to business, with Angela pointedly not looking in Shawn's direction.

After the meeting was over, Shawn rushed over to Angela in the corridor. "Why didn't you tell me you were back in the U.S.?" Shawn asked in a low voice, getting straight to the point.

"Shawn," she said, having forgotten just how much Shawn could resemble a little, lost puppy at times. "This is my first day of work here. Look, why don't we meet up for drinks later and we'll talk then. Okay?"

"Okay," said Shawn. "There's a place on the corner of Sixth and Thirty-First. Let's say six?"

Angela agreed, and they each went their separate way. Shawn, however, knew there was no way for him to concentrate on work, and instead ran outside and pulled out his cell phone.

"Shawn?" said Cory over the phone. "Everything okay?"

"She's here!" said Shawn. "She wants to meet later to talk. What do I do? What do I say?"

"Hold on, hold on," said Cory. "What are you talking about, buddy?"

"Angela! Keep up."

"What do you mean 'Angela'?" said Cory.

"She's in New York, working in _my_ office. We're going to meet up after work."

"What are you going to say to her?" asked Cory.

"I don't know," said Shawn.

"Well," said Cory. "Do you want to try to get back together?"

"I don't know," Shawn said again.

"What about Krysti?"

"I don't know," Shawn groaned in frustration.

"Look, Shawn," said Cory. "Just take a breath." Shawn took a heavy breath. "Good," continued Cory. "Now, you and Angela haven't seen each other in years. Just take it slow, don't scare her off, or you may never be able to repair your relationship, even as just friends."

"You're right," said Shawn. "Just take it slow. Simple. Good talking to ya, buddy."

"Good luck," said Cory.

–

Later that day, Shawn entered the bar and found that Angela was already waiting for him at a booth.

"Hey," he said, sitting down opposite her.

"I take it you've already told Cory," said Angela.

"Without a doubt," said Shawn.

"And I suppose Topanga knows by now also?" she asked.

"It stands to reason," said Shawn.

"So how are you, Shawn?" she asked.

"Alright," he said. "I'm living with Eric over in Dumbo, got a job that I enjoy..."

"That's great," said Angela.

"You?" asked Shawn.

"Good," she said. "You know, I mean it feels a bit strange being back in the States after so long, but I'm getting used to it." She hesitated before adding, "It would be great to have a friend to help me out; New York can be a bit daunting."

"Well, you can come to me for anything, Angela," said Shawn. "Always."

"Thanks," she smiled.

They talked. Angela told Shawn about Paris and Madrid, but how her favorite will always be Venice; and Shawn told Angela where to find the best hamburger in New York. They laughed at half-forgotten jokes. And Shawn was genuinely happy sitting across from Angela. So, of course, he had to go and ruin things in a spectacular fashion.

"I've really missed this," said Shawn.

"Me, too," said Angela.

"So how about dinner Friday night?" he asked.

Angela's features went momentarily rigid. "Are you asking me out on a date?" she asked.

"So what if I am?" said Shawn, defensively.

"Shawn..." she said. "No."

"Why not?"

"I can't do this with you anymore, Shawn," said Angela. "We're just not meant to be."

"But what if we are?" he said, his voice growing more passionate. "What if our meeting like this is the universe's way of telling us we should be together?"

"That's not how the world works, and you know it. You're living in a fairy tale!"

"Why can't we be Cory and Topanga?" Shawn asked.

"Because we're not them," she said. "I'm Angela, and you're Shawn. We can never have what they have."

"We can try," he pleaded.

"We did try, Shawn," she said softly.

"Look, Angela..." Shawn said, trying to calm his emotions.

"We're no good together," Angela told him. "Why can't you see that?"

"Because," Shawn said, earnestly. "You're the only person who's ever made me feel like I'm not _empty_ inside."

"Oh, Shawn," Angela murmured, lightly shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't be the person you want me to be. You have to accept that and move on with your life."

"If you can honestly say that you haven't once thought about us, about what could have been..." Shawn began to say, but his sentence trailed off.

"I'd be lying if I said that I didn't," Angela admitted. "But just because it could have been, that doesn't mean it _should_ have been." They both became silent, and Angela dared for a moment to look into Shawn's eyes, but she quickly turned away, afraid he would be able to read the depths of her emotions. She hurriedly arose from the table, saying, "I've got to go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Shawn remained seated, watching her vanish like Eurydice, leaving him alone with nothing but his sorrow.


	5. I Want What They Have

A/N: What's this? An update? I know, I'm sorry. But here's the next chapter. Please enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 4: I Want What They Have**

Cory stood in front of his bathroom mirror, ready to undergo the next step of his morning ritual. He grabbed the can of shaving cream and released the white foam into his hand. It was a good thing he had done this millions of times before or else, as the razor finally made contact with his face, he might have accidentally nicked himself, as he was actually deep in thought (not an easy pair to multitask, especially first thing in the morning). What he was thinking about, as he had thought about for a good chunk of his life thus far and would probably continue to do until his dying breath, was Shawn Hunter. Shawn, who only wished for good things and worked hard to accomplish them, was in such a state of melancholy that Cory wasn't sure if he'd actually ever completely recover. Sure, he and Angela had broken up a few times, and every time Shawn had eventually bounced back to his same-old happy-go-lucky self, but this felt different. It was as if Fate itself was mocking Shawn, tempting him with the idea of true love and destiny, only to stick a knife in his heart. His next thoughts shifted over to Topanga and Cory's own struggles to find his own happily ever after with her. When he had kissed that other girl- a stupid mistake that meant nothing- no one believed he and Topanga could ever be together again. Even Shawn, who had stood by him throughout all the pain and misery, eventually threw in the towel. But he defied them all. And perhaps Shawn could, too? Perhaps some more words of encouragement would boost his best friend's confidence? Perhaps he'd try it now?

"Shawny," said Cory, looking at the mirror's reflection of the bathtub behind him and the forlorn figure it contained. "Ya can't give up hope just yet!"

"Why not?" mumbled Shawn, who was lying in the porcelain casement, wearing a robe over his clothes, unwashed and unshaven, a half-eaten bag of potato chips resting on his chest.

"Because she's the Rachel to your Ross!" urged Cory. "The Joanie to your Chachi! The Lady to your Tramp!"

"But she doesn't want anything to do with me," Shawn countered. "I messed up big time. I don't even think she'd take me back as a friend now."

"Listen, Shawny," said Cory, swiping his razor one final time before taking a towel to wipe off any excess foam. "She's just scared. She's always been scared. You were too at first, remember? You have to show her how important all of this is, how happy both of you can be." He finally turned around and faced his friend. "But you can't do that lying in your bathrobe, feeling sorry for yourself."

"You're right!" announced Shawn, full of a new force of energy sweeping through his veins. He then stood up and took off his robe, potato chip crumbs falling to the floor.

"Now go get her, Shawny!" cried Cory.

"I'm going!" cried Shawn, who then marched out of the bathroom and then the apartment.

It was then that Topanga appeared at the doorway. "You got him to leave," she said endearingly. "Good for you."

"I just hope I haven't made things worse," Cory admitted.

"Shawn needs to learn to stand on his own two feet," said Topanga.

"Eventually," said Cory. "But right now he still needs our help in a major way."

"So what are you going to do?" asked Topanga.

"At this point," said Cory. "I think we might need to call in the big guns..."

–

"Hello?" said Mr. Feeny over the other end of the telephone.

"Hey there, Mr. Feeny," Cory said.

"Mr. Matthews," Mr. Feeny answered in a jovial voice. "How are you and Topanga doing?"

"Who cares about that?" he said. "Look, Mr. Feeny, we need your advice."

"So what else is new?" sighed his former teacher.

"Well let me tell you, sir," said Cory, pointing a finger for emphasis, though Feeny, of course, couldn't see it. "Guess who just showed up here in New York?"

"Who?"

"Angela," he said.

"Oh boy," replied Mr. Feeny. "How's Mr. Hunter handling it?"

"He's a wreck," Cory admitted. "I need you to tell me how to talk Angela into going back to him."

"Look, Mr. Matthews," said Mr. Feeny in his I'm-going-to-teach-you-something-valuable voice. "As much as I have truly rooted for both Mr. Hunter and Ms. Moore over the years, I am not going to play Cupid for them. If they want to be together, then they have to find their way back to each other in their own time and at their own pace. You can't force these things."

"Yeah," Cory replied a bit tersely. "Uh-huh. Bye." He then hung up. "Thanks for nothing," he declared unhappily toward the phone.

"What did Mr. Feeny have to say?" asked Topanga.

"That it's up to us to play Cupid," Cory told her.

"I don't know, Cory..." said Topanga. "Our meddling could just result in driving them further apart."

"Or it could be just the thing to bring them together," said Cory.

–

Angela sat at her desk, typing away at her computer as she tried to work on the article just assigned to her. The task proved difficult, however, not because she was unfamiliar with the topic or because she was recently thrust into a new environment; no, try as she might to force it toward a more productive path, her mind kept wandering back to one thought: Shawn Hunter.

Why did he have to be so infuriating? Why couldn't he let the past just be the past? Sure, she herself sometimes wondered 'What if...', but life isn't a fairytale and just because you want true love, doesn't mean you'll find it.

She was suddenly distracted from her distracting thoughts by a presence standing before her. The presence took the shape of a young, thin woman, possessing model-quality beauty, though the frown plastered on her face diminished some of her appeal. "Can I help you, Miss?" inquired Angela.

"Stay away from Shawn," the woman demanded.

"Excuse me?" asked Angela, taken aback.

"You heard me," she said, full of spite.

"I did," replied Angela, angered now by the stranger in ways that weren't even fully formed just yet. "But I was confused as to why I should be taking any advice from someone whom I don't know that just storming into my office?"

"My name's Krysti Hayworth," she finally revealed. "I'm Shawn's _girlfriend_," she said, putting emphasis on the last word.

"Girlfriend?" Angela repeated.

"Yeah," said Krysti, leaning in closer. "So you better back off."

"Look," said Angela, ready to burst with fury. "I don't know what you think is going on, but I'm not trying to steal Shawn from you. We have a long and complicated history, and I suggest," she said, rising from her chair, "that _you_ back off and just go about your business as usual. Now get out of my sight."

Krysti answered with a only a short "hmmph!" and disappeared just as quickly as she came.

When she was finally gone, Angela sat back down and sighed. What had she gotten herself into? It was her own fault, she knew... Because she knew. She knew Shawn was in Manhattan, knew that he worked for _Vision_, knew that he wasn't married, knew that old feelings would be sure to resurface. So why would she walk straight into the lion's den? Because, deep down, despite all of her protests against it, she knew...

And now she finally realized.


End file.
